


muffin bottom boy

by kellifer_fic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Derek Hale, Domestic Fluff, M/M, full moon wackiness ensues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4410656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellifer_fic/pseuds/kellifer_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Derek isn't lurking or growling or being weirdly adorable which, who knew that was a thing, he's <i>elsewhere</i> and Stiles didn't notice at first that the times he's elsewhere align with the full moon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	muffin bottom boy

**Author's Note:**

> This is... I don't know what this is. I needed to write the story equivalent of junk food for my brain because I've had a stressful few weeks. I apologize in advance for... everything basically. Especially the title. Ye gads, the title.

Stiles doesn't know why it takes him so long to notice, he usually prides himself on his observational skills. He's _astute_ okay, more than everyone else. He's always the first one to pick the bad guy, he totally would have killed it if he were in the scooby gang.

It's just, they've all been busy and where Derek was on a full moon had been the least of his problems. He was distracted by Scott turning into a raging, Jackson-level jerk once a month and _then_ by the others all having their own particular monthly quirks he was left to wrangle. When Derek isn't lurking or growling or being weirdly adorable which, who knew that was a thing, he's _elsewhere_ and Stiles didn't notice at first that the times he's elsewhere align with the full moon.

"He's a total jerky bail-er," Stiles complains bitterly. He's complaining to Deaton who is possibly the wrong person to complain to, but there's no one else in his immediate vicinity while he's waiting for Scott to clean up after his shift. "He just dumps his pack, on _me_ no less. I have to make sure Erica doesn't have access to anything sharp, Boyd doesn't post his angry Letters to the Editor and Isaac doesn't see any sad commercials. He cries Deaton, he _cries_. If Isaac sees a single stuffed bear or lost duckling he's a mess for the rest of the day."

"Each werewolf deals with the full moon differently."

"I've been lied to by Hollywood," Stiles grumbles. "I could handle locking them all up if they just did the decent thing and became uncontrollable killing machines. I can't handle Isaac crying."

"I don't know what to say to you," Deaton says and huh, he's been saying that a lot lately, like he thinks that'll get him out of conversations. It works with Scott, but not Stiles.

"You've known Derek a long time. What's his deal anyway? Does he do something weird? Is that why he hides? Is he dangerous?" Stiles can just imagine stoic, self-sacrificing Derek locking himself away without any fanfare or help, baying at the moon and clawing at the walls.

Possibly while wearing a grease-stained, too-tight tank top because he does that kind of thing.

"Why don't you ask Derek?" Deaton suggests, now sounding plaintive, his words clearly also conveying, _instead of me, for the love of god_.

"Maybe I will," Stiles says sniffily.

*

He will ask Derek... eventually. Only as a last resort. In the mean time, he has a whole pack of other werewolves to quiz on Derek's whereabouts when he gets his monthly fur-on.

"I don't know, dude," Scott says, shrugging. "Maybe he just needs a break from us."

"Maybe _I_ need a break from you around that time of the month," Stiles snits and then at Scott's woeful expression, he pats his friend on the shoulder and says, "Kidding, I'm kidding. I couldn't imagine being anywhere else."

*

Erica's not much more help. She's buffing her nails to a high sheen when Stiles brings Derek up and she narrows her eyes at him and demands, "Why do you care?"

"I care about all of my wolfies," Stiles says, reaching out to pat Erica's head and then thinking better of it when she snaps her teeth at his fingers. He curls his hand into his chest protectively and when she's not looking he counts his fingers just to make sure she didn't get one.

*

Stiles questions Boyd and Isaac together and Isaac surprises the hell out of him by having the answer.

"He stays in the loft over the moon. Didn't you know that?" 

Stiles thinks maybe, _maybe_ Isaac is messing with him, but he's blinking large, guileless eyes and looking like he's confused that this isn't common knowledge.

"He's in the loft," Stiles says flatly, vaguely disappointed that it's not anything more exciting. "Every full moon?"

"Yes," Boyd says, equally flatly. 

"That rat bastard!" Stiles seethes.

*

Seriously, Stiles thinks, stomping up the stairs that lead to Derek's loft the very next full moon when Derek is a no-show just like always. Stiles would rather not have to mop up a sodden Isaac, explain to Boyd why it's a bad idea to get into chatroom flame wars and avoid getting his spleen ripped out by Erica. That should be _Derek's_ job as their alpha. Instead he hides in his apartment, probably watching reality shows about bored, too-rich housewives and eating chili.

Stiles reaches the loft door, hesitates for only a second before using the emergency key he'd swiped from Scott and then storms into the loft and... stops.

He's expecting to find Derek on his couch reading calmly or possibly descending from the second floor with a raised eyebrow and a _what are you doing here_. He's not expecting what he sees.

He never, in a million years, would've expected what he's actually seeing.

There are cupcakes, what looks like dozens and dozens of cupcakes on every available flat surface in the loft. Some on the dining table, completely covering the coffee table and surrounding the kitchen like a cake-moat. There's also balls of yarn and what looks like eight different knitting projects on the go. Stiles picks the closest one up gingerly, abandoned on the little table Derek has set next to the front door that usually only has a bowl of keys on it, and stares in abject horror at the ugly, monstrous green sweater with three arms that he's holding.

He picks his way further inside the loft carefully, abandoning the scary knitting as he goes and sees despite the clutter, that the loft is almost _gleaming_. The floors are polished to a high sheen, the kitchen fixtures are practically glowing and everything as far as he can see that can be, has been alphabetized. The books on the shelves, the DVDs, even the stack of games that sit by the console that Scott and Stiles had bullied Derek into getting.

It's then that Derek appears from the bathroom, looking frazzled, carrying a bucket and wearing pink rubber gloves. 

"Stiles?" he says, freezing in place like a startled deer.

"Uh, what's going on big guy?" Stiles asks slowly, waving his arms and... he doesn't even know how to describe it.

"What are you doing here? Is something wrong? What's happened to Scott?" Derek demands and Stiles holds his hands out in a placatory manner.

"Woah, slow down. We're all good. I just-"

"Oh, good," Derek interrupts and then comes at Stiles. For a second Stiles thinks oh god, he locks himself away because he _is_ dangerous, but then Derek is bodily herding Stiles towards the dining table and pushing him into a chair, clearing a small circle of space in front of Stiles by shoving aside cupcakes, completely unmindful that this results in him having icing all up his forearm. "Stay."

"Uh, okay?" Stiles says, bemused. He sits for a few moments just drumming his hands on the table, but then there's thumping noises and grumbling coming from the kitchen and Stiles turns around in his seat to see what Derek's up to, curious.

Derek has the fridge open and is ducked halfway inside it. Stiles isn't sure what would be taking Derek so long considering the contents of the fridge as of a pack meeting two weeks ago was a slice of pizza (not in the box), a bottle of honey mustard (gross) and a jar of olives, sans olives (so basically just black olive water). Except, then Derek is taking out and setting aside honest-to-god Tupperware containers, opening lids and sniffing at them and then shaking his head and going back into the fridge.

Stiles watches, amazed, as Derek finally seems to unearth what he's looking for with a triumphant _aha_ and then he's dumping the contents of a container into the bowl Stiles got him about a month ago when he caught Derek eating mac and cheese out of a saucepan over the sink. He spins around to put it in the microwave and hit the timer.

Derek's watching the microwave, jigging impatiently in place and glaring like the microwave is personally offending him by taking so long when Stiles says, "Der?"

"Just be a minute," Derek says brightly and then the microwave dings and Derek pulls the bowl out with his bare hands even though it has to be hot. He scoots over to set it down in front of Stiles, only pausing long enough to grab a fork out of a drawer and a roll of paper towels. "Here!"

"I already ate-" Stiles starts to say, but Derek's staring at him, looking a little crazed around the eyes and who is Stiles kidding, he's a bottomless pit at the best of times. "I mean, uh, thanks!" he corrects.

Derek bobs his head, pulls out the chair opposite Stiles and sits, dropping his chin on his folded hands so he can watch Stiles expectantly. 

"Oh, okay," Stiles says haltingly as Derek makes this almost heartbreakingly high-pitched whine of distress when Stiles doesn't start eating immediately. Stiles digs the fork he was handed into the bowl of what turns out to be spaghetti and meat sauce, twirls it until he has a ridiculously large ball of pasta and shoves it into his mouth.

Stiles finishes the rest fast, half because Derek is looking more and more relaxed the more he eats, and half because it's _fantastic_. 

"Did you get a cook or something?" Stiles asks, mouth still mostly full.

"No," Derek dismisses, shaking his head.

Stiles pauses, bowl tilted towards himself as he tries to wrangle the last bits of recalcitrant spaghetti. "You made this?" he asks slowly.

"Yes," Derek confirms.

"Derek, I caught you googling _how to boil an egg_ only last week," Stiles says slowly. 

"So?"

"You learned how to make something like this in only a few days?"

"No."

"Then what happened? Are you possessed by the ghost of Julia Child or something?" Stiles demands, taking a moment to look around the apartment and think, oh god, that's it, he's _possessed_.

"I can't cook like this all the time," Derek explains, still dismissive and makes an expansive gesture around the loft. "Just..."

"Just...?" Stiles starts to prompt, but the he Gets It. "Oh my god, are you serious?" he splutters. "This? This is your full moon thing? _This_?"

"Yes," Derek says, shoulders going up around his ears and looking deeply embarrassed. 

"Dude, why are you hiding this?" Stiles says, using a finger to mop up some of the left-over sauce in his bowl unashamedly. 

"Because it's weird," Derek says, looking hunted. "I can't seem to control it and it gets... a little out of hand."

"If this is the weirdest that it gets, you don't have to be embarrassed." When Derek's eyes flick away, Stiles says, "Wait, this isn't the weirdest it gets, is it?"

"No," Derek says into his hands, slumping.

"What do you do? Rub the cupcakes all over yourself under the light of the full moon while dancing naked to Peter Gabriel?"

"Of course not," Derek says and his gaze flicks away again and this time Stiles sees where it goes.

The upstairs bedroom.

"I'm not going to go up there and find a pile of dead bunnies or something, am I?" Stiles asks, rising slowly.

"No, god," Derek says. 

"Uhuh," Stiles says, getting up and making his way over to the spiral staircase.

"Stiles, I don't think-" Derek starts to protest, but Stiles races up before Derek can change his mind about sharing the levels of his moon-driven depravity, the curiosity is killing him.

At first, nothing appears out of the ordinary at all. The bedroom looks messier than the rest of the house, untouched by the clean-freak-Moon-Moon version of Derek, but then Stiles' eyes adjust to the darkness and he notices that the piles of clothes on Derek's bed aren't just a random jumble of laundry, but piled in a very deliberate way and also?

Not all Derek's.

Stiles, when he figures out what this actually is, some kind of _nest_ , knows it's logical for Derek to have a few pieces from the other pack members. He can see something filmy and too-small that wouldn't even fit over Derek's bicep that must be Erica's, a striped shirt that he's seen on Boyd a few dozen times and one of Isaac's scarves. More surprisingly, there's one of Scott's old Lacrosse shirts, _McCall_ clearly visible from where it's lying front-down. Right next to it is a Lacrosse shirt of Stiles', one he was sure was spending its time in a small ball at the bottom of his locker ever since his number on the back had started peeling up and he'd gotten a new one.

As he approaches the bed though, he notices that the Lacrosse shirt is not the only item of his in the pile. There's a few of his overshirts that had been mysteriously replaced a few months ago. There was a pair of jeans that he'd worn straight through the knees of and a pair of emoticon socks that he'd figured had been eaten by the tumble dryer.

His Stud Muffin t-shirt is close to the top of the pile. 

He'd accused Greenburg of stealing it.

"Is this still... just a full moon thing?" Stiles asks slowly when he hears Derek shuffle into the room behind him. Stiles doesn't want to read too much into this, get his hopes up. He figures he's just the stinkiest one in the pack and Derek is like one of those cats that gets off on shoving its face into shoes.

The stinkier, the more worn in, the better.

"Yes," Derek says, and Stiles slumps a little. "No," Derek contradicts himself after a heavy pause.

"Which one?" Stiles asks, rounding on him. He's got the Stud Muffin t-shirt in his hands and Derek looks like he's about three seconds away from snatching it back gollum-style, but he's physically restraining himself.

"My full moon... peccadilloes, were mostly directionless for the majority of my life. They've only become more focused lately, since I met you, since you've been pack."

"Is it a weak human thing?" Stiles presses.

"I thought that's all it was, at first. That I was more driven to protect and provide for you because you were the pack human, that my wolf went overboard only because of that but... it's not true. It might've started out that way but that's not why... anymore."

"This is _just_ during the full moon though, right?" Stiles says, because he needs some boundaries here, he needs to know that Derek only wants to sleep on a pile of his clothes at very specific times of the month, the same times he bakes uncontrollably, knits badly and cleans until his hands are worn pink from the chemicals.

"Yes," Derek says, indicating the bed. "I can control myself the rest of the time. I don't... indulge."

"You want to, though?" Stiles asks, hope spiking again.

Stiles has had what he assumed to be a hopeless crush on Derek ever since the guy had stopped creepering around and had started being a real person with foibles and quirks and fitted t-shirts. Derek is tough and stoic, sure, but he's also quick to smile when his world isn't falling apart or he's surrounded by enemies. He's a bit of a dork, a bit of a dweeb and unfailingly optimistic if given half a chance.

Stiles hadn't really had a _chance_ to notice all of that until there was no crazy, homicidal uncle, no Alpha pack, no Nogitsune or undead Kate in the picture.

"The cupcakes are all peanut butter and chocolate. All the meals are your favorites. The homeless shelter I take all this to when I can get a hold of myself wishes there was more variety but until I let myself actually give any of this to you instead, they're not going to get it."

"That all means?" Stiles prompts.

"The wolf and I aren't separate. The wolf just gets its way a little more during the full moon. The rest of the time I resist, but that's all it is. Resisting. My feelings don't change."

"There are... feelings?" Stiles asks, having to swallow partway through the sentence when his voice goes squeaky.

Derek nods slowly. "There are feelings," he confirms, then he's reaching for Stiles and this is it, this is _awesome_ , this is the culmination of a lot of-

"Wait!" Stiles blurts, ducking out of Derek's grasp. 

Derek freezes, his hands left hovering in the air with nothing to grip on, his face folding down into something bereft. 

"I'm sorry, I-"

"No, don't apologize, god. Don't do that with your face either," Stiles says, wanting nothing more than to step into the circle of Derek's arms and knowing, deep down, that he'll always question it.

He has to be sure.

"I need to know this is _you_ you and not just moon-mad you," Stiles says firmly.

"It's me," Derek huffs, impatient but Stiles shakes his head.

"No, I need you to tell me when you're more, uh, moon sober."

"Moon sober?" Derek asks, incredulous.

"Moon sober," Stiles repeats, nodding his head.

*

Three days later there's a pack meeting and Stiles feels something twist deep down inside when Derek disappears into the kitchen almost as soon as he arrives.

Derek's regretting it. He's embarrassed. Derek's going to avoid him until the next full moon, Stiles thinks morosely, waving Scott off when his best friend gives him a worried look. Stiles drops down onto Derek's leather sectional with a resigned huff.

"I made you this," Derek says, suddenly right in front of him and holding a muffin in front of his nose.

"Uh, really?" Stiles says, plucking the muffin out of Derek's hand and beaming at him.

"Completely sober," Derek says with an enigmatic little grin.

"Can I have your muffin bottom?" Isaac asks, because he's a giant weirdo. Who likes the bottoms better?

"No one gets my bottom but Derek," Stiles says and catches Derek's grin getting wider and more pleased out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh god," Lydia groans from where she's just dropped into the armchair on the other side of the living room. "I mean finally, but oh _god_."

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://kellifer-k.tumblr.com/)


End file.
